Table of Contents | 4 June 2007
Sometimes, looking down an empty stairwell or wiping chalk dust off a board as the light settled through the pointed windows, it seemed to me that I was sharing my space with some kind of heavy presence, compounded out of history, time, ideas, ghosts.
It's no wonder he spends / so much time alone
That's when I see my new boss. Four feet of trouble. Brunette variety. Tear tracks cutting through the dirt on her face, wearing jeans that were already old when Molly Dolls were nothing more than molded plastic and fantasy homes.
Prev Issue
28 May 2007
Next Issue
11 Jun 2007
%d bloggers like this: